


My Big Fat Magical Wedding

by Otoshigo



Series: USUK - Oneshots [13]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, USUK - Freeform, but a cute one, in which england is definitely a moron, ish, magical weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 05:51:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7347730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otoshigo/pseuds/Otoshigo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred was just minding his own business when he gets magically transported (kidnapped) into another world. By some weird dude who says they're soulmates. And now they have to get married!</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Big Fat Magical Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> Agh, I wanted this to be a crack-fic, but it turned into pure sugar instead. Oh well.

Next thing Alfred F. Jones knew, he was staring up at a stone ceiling.

Which was _not_ normal, because he definitely wasn’t looking up at a stone ceiling a second ago.  Nor was he on his back.  Nor was there this _funky_ smell floating around, like rat vomit.  A second later, a shriek pierced the quiet of the room, making Alfred wince.

“I did it!  I did it!”

The freshman college student slowly pushed himself up from his prone position, propping himself up on his elbows to look at who was bellowing.  What he found himself staring at was some skinny blond dude - not much older than him - bouncing up and down in a dark black robe, brandishing a moldy looking book and a wand.

_Holy crap, I’ve been kidnapped by a Harry Potter cosplayer._

And as one does in these situations, Alfred made a break for it.  Bolting to his feet, he flew past the kidnapper and towards the door, ignoring the other man’s yelp of protest.  However, the instant he touched the handle of the door, a fiery jolt of pain flew up his arm and made him cry out.  He turned his palm up, sure he’d see a bright, bloody burn, but saw only smooth skin instead.

“Blimey, what on earth did you do that for?” the cosplayer said in a distinctly British accent.  Alfred doubted that was even his real voice.  “Don’t you know any good magician has his door warded while summoning?”

“I was trying to escape, you freak!” Alfred cried at him, his blue eyes blazing.  He couldn’t see any other doors or windows and he sure as shit wasn’t going to try the door again.  Which left trying to reason with this psycho.  “Where the hell am I?  Who are you?  What do you want with me?”

The “wizard” put his hands up in a placating manner, even though he was still holding onto his wand.  “I know this all must be very disorienting.  However, I will explain everything in due course.  If you promise not to try to escape, we can head upstairs to have some tea.”

Which was probably drugged.  That was how this guy probably got him the first time.  However, Alfred nodded anyway because he didn’t see any other way out of this dungeon.  Smiling in satisfaction, the cosplayer tapped the door with his wand and the strange pulsing that Alfred didn’t even know he’d been feeling had gone.  Then he opened up the door, which lead to the base of a spiraling staircase.  “Here we are.”

Instantly, Alfred pushed past him, running up the stone spiral steps.  He couldn’t sense the kidnapper behind him, so he kept it up, running and running up the steep stone steps.  And running. 

And running. 

And jogging. 

And running again. 

And then walking.

Alfred was panting for breath as he sat on a step, after three hours of flat out running up the stairs, which seemed to have no end in sight.  Holy crap, how far down was this dungeon anyway?  There had to be some kind of hidden elevator that he didn’t see, because he couldn’t see that twig of a man carrying him all that way down the stairs.

The idea solidified when he saw the cosplayer appear around the bend, looking completely neat and unruffled as he stepped up to his level.  Hands behind his back, his kidnapper smiled, “Right, are you done then?  Let’s have some tea shall we?”

The cosplayer went past him and around the bend just a few steps.  Then to Alfred’s horror, he heard the creak of a large wooden door up ahead.  It was only a few steps more!  If he’d just gone for long-distance in track maybe he would have been able to make it.  However, now he pushed himself up on his jelly-legs and braced himself against the wall as he made the final few steps.

What he found himself in was something straight out of Harry Potter world in Orlando.  The door opened up to what looked like a very fat tower, all the common areas of a house all jumbled together in a large circular space.  There didn’t seem to be anything here technologically past the 17th Century, though that could easily be faked.  The ceiling, wooden this time, was thirty feet high with a huge iron chandelier casting flickering candlelight over the space.  He noticed another set of stairs going to an upper level of the tower, along with a lot of thin arrow slit windows looking out into a day too bright to make out.  There was a little door under the stone stairs clearly marked ‘Privy’.  And another huge wooden door, leading to freedom.

“Don’t try it,” the kidnapper warned, sensing where his eyes were at.  He was busy bustling in the ‘kitchen’ part of the open room, boiling some water on top of an iron stove.  Alfred assumed that was where the cloying smell of dried herbs was all coming from, though it smelled way better than the rat vomit in the dungeon.  He had to hand it to the guy.  Building this kind of place took some dedication.  “Have a seat.  I’ll have some bread and cheese for you too.”

Alfred gave another longing look at the door, but he was so beat he didn’t think he’d make it far.  Reluctantly, he sat down at the only table available - a round wooden thing with stools - and waited for the dude to finish up.  His kidnapper brought over two huge mugs of tea, as well as the plate of bread and cheese.

Despite himself, Alfred’s stomach growled and he immediately set himself on the food.  Sure, that might have been drugged too, but he was too tired to care right then.  The tea he completely ignored. 

Meanwhile, the cosplayer stared creepily at him with rapt attention.  Probably admiring Alfred’s baby blues, copper blond hair, and chiseled face.  Not to mention his track runner’s physique, though he tended to be more into shot put nowadays.  That sort of attention, he was used to.  The way that this guy was almost _eating_ him with his green eyes, not really.

Creeped out, Alfred coughed and asked, “Okay, so are you planning on explaining anything to me?  Like what am I doing here?”

“What?  Oh, yes, of course,” the man said, startled out of his thoughts.  Dude wasn’t exactly hard on the eyes either, with choppy flaxen hair, sylvan face and bright, _bright_ green eyes.  He was smaller and slighter than Alfred was, if the glimpses of his vest and slacks were anything to go by underneath that big black robe.  It only worried Alfred more.  Not only was the guy psycho, but he was a handsome psycho - like Christian Bale in American Psycho.  Those guys were even more dangerous.  Probably.

Thoughts of turning into a crazy stockholm syndrome victim floating in Alfred’s mind, the guy continued, “Yes, I think introductions are in order first.  My name is Arthur Kirkland.”  He waited for a pause, as if expecting Alfred to recognize the name.  He didn’t.  “Alright, well, I happen to be a magician of some note,” he added, clearly put out that Alfred couldn’t immediately buy into his lala-fantasy-land.  “...You’ve really never heard of me?”

Alfred wasn’t exactly a fan-boy of the franchise, but he was fairly certain he’d have remembered the name from the books.  “Not really,” he said warily.  “Should I have?”

“Well, I’m _only_ the Royal Arch-Mage, cousin and closest advisor to the king himself,” the cosplayer said in exasperation.  “You must have been living under a rock your entire life not to know that.”

“King of what, exactly?” Alfred frowned, “England?”

The annoyance on the kidnapper’s face fell in place of confusion.  “England?  What’s England?”

Oookay, so maybe this guy wasn’t a Harry Potter cosplayer.  He was nonetheless still psycho with delusions of grandeur.  “Y’know, England.  Part of Europe?  Huge ol’ continent on Earth?” Alfred pressed, wondering if he was going about this all the wrong way.  On TV, weren’t hostages supposed to play into the fantasy while waiting for authorities to arrive? 

However, the guy didn’t look particularly upset.  Instead, his confusion lapsed into concern.  “Right, yes.  This is Earth, but I’ve never heard of those places.  You’re in the Kingdom of Alberron, the largest kingdom on the continent of Ariathae.”  After a pause, he said, “Where were you from again?”

At this, Alfred’s jaw dropped.  “How can you not know where I’m from?!” he demanded, standing up as he slammed a hand on the table.  “You flippin’ drugged me, kidnapped me and chucked me down in your dungeon!  You had to know where I’m from to get me!”

“Drug someone?” his kidnapper scoffed.  “As if I would do something so plebian.  I summoned you here like any proper mage would.”

“You can’t summon someone!  There’s no such thing as magic!” Alfred howled, about ready to lose it.

Arthur, however, went very still.  “Oh dear,” he said, “you’re really not from around here, are you?”

“If you’re talking about your crazy fantasy Albion, or whatever- No, I’m not!” Alfred cried with a stamp of his foot.  “I’m just a normal college student, who would very much like to just go back to his dorm so he can actually get some sleep before his makeup test tomorrow.  So give up this entire stupid playacting and take me back and maybe, just _maybe_ , I won’t call the cops on you.”

His kidnapper opened his mouth to protest, then closed it.  Then he rubbed his temple as though _Alfred_ were being the completely irrational one.  “My dear boy,” he said, in the most patronizing of tones, “I think I had better tell you why I had summoned you first.”  He drew himself up almost regally and said, “I am currently in nomination for the Astor Seat at the College of Mages, which is the pinnacle of any magician’s career in his lifetime.  However, there has not been a single Astorian bachelor in the two-thousand year history of the College.  Therefore, I need to be married in order to bolster my nomination.”

Alfred had a bad feeling about where this was going.

“Granted, I could just marry any bint in the village and get the same result,” Arthur continued, “but if I am to ‘take the plunge’ if you will, I would rather have the best.  So, I conjured a spell that would summon my soulmate.  And there we are.  You’re my soulmate.”  He clapped his hands and said brightly, “Now, let’s have your name so we can be properly married, shall we?”

Alfred did the only sensible thing a person could do.  He booked it.

Ignoring Arthur’s cry of protest, he bolted for the door and swung it open.  He nearly crashed into two armored guards on the way out - and by armored guards that meant medieval larpers in breastplate with halberds.

“What was that?” one said.

“Who are you!” screamed another. 

“Intruder!” cried the first.

“Don’t hurt him!  Just catch him before he does something stupid!” Arthur’s voice commanded, echoing along the stone and wooden hall.

Alfred didn’t know where the hell he was, but it looked like some kind of castle corridor, decked with long rugs and tapestries.  And _more_ armed guards, shit!  He turned a corner and skidded down some spiral stairs, leading out into a stone arcade and then a courtyard.  It had been raining, so everything was slick and muddy and smelled like horse manure.  Ahead, the alarm had been sounded and he saw more armed guards approaching.  He skidded, slipped, and lost a shoe, sliding into a muddy mess while the guards surrounded him.

“Intruder!  Intruder!” they kept yelling, pointing the business end of their swords and halberds at his throat.  “How dare you trespass in the king’s castle!” “To the dungeon with you!”  Alfred couldn’t breathe, keeping very still as the sharp metal pressed against his throat.

“Stop!  STOP!” Arthur cried, running out behind the guards.  “Let him go!  He’s my guest!”  The group parted like a wave as he came, giving the kidnapper bows and apologies as Arthur knelt down next to him.  “Are you alright?  Are you hurt?” he demanded, cupping Alfred’s muddy face.

Alfred shook his head.  More like, he was going numb, because _how_ could this guy have at least thirty people all in on his fantasy headcase.  Unless this was like a cult or something.  Some crazy cult in the middle of a Canadian forest or something, because he _couldn’t_ have actually made it all the way to England.  He couldn’t, even though everyone was speaking with English accents and- and-

Arthur was muttering something under his breath and the mud caked all over him and the shoe he’d lost, but was now somehow in Arthur’s hands, began to sluice off him like water.  Except he wasn’t even wet.  That wasn’t _possible._   Arthur tugged uncertainly at the laces of his sneakers, before he slipped the shoe onto his foot.  “There we are.  All nice and clean now,” Arthur said in satisfaction.

“I think I’m gonna vomit,” Alfred said weakly.

“Oh, no, no, don’t!” Arthur cried, before he waved to the two nearest guards.  “You two.  Bring him back to my tower.  Guard him and make sure that he gets some rest.  I need to go speak to His Majesty.”  He got up and dusted himself off, looking perfectly dry even though he too had been kneeling in the cold wet mud.  He took off, leaving Alfred at the mercy of several annoyed guardsmen.

“‘oo are you exactly then?” one of them asked suspiciously while the rest went back to their posts.  “I din’t see you comin tru the gate.”

“Nobody.  I’m nobody,” Alfred said thickly, swallowing back some bile.  The ceiling was still spinning when the guards deposited him into a long chaise in the open tower room.  Alfred closed his eyes and willed himself not to go into a full on panic attack, unsure if the guards were still there or not.  Okay, so he probably wasn’t going to his makeup test tomorrow.  It didn’t matter if he was in Alberron or England or a cult-castle in Canada, he was _stuck_ here and he couldn’t think of how to get out of it.  Not with armed guards at every door.

Worst of all, he was actually starting to believe that Arthur was telling the truth.  That he was in a different world, where _magic_ was actually a thing.  Which meant he was 1) crazy, 2) drugged with some hallucinogenic juju-juice, or 3) so unbelievably out of his depth that it wasn’t even funny.

Alfred was still busy mentally processing hours later, when the door opened and Arthur returned.  Peeking out at him from a barely opened eye, he saw that his kidnapper looked properly chastised as he came to sit by Alfred’s chaise.  “The queen informs me that I may have been overly hasty in my proposal,” Arthur muttered by way of apology.  “You will have to excuse me.  Interpersonal skills are not necessarily my forte.”

“So... does that mean you don’t want to marry me anymore?” Alfred asked hopefully, pushing himself up into sitting.

“Oh no, I still do,” his kidnapper replied nonchalantly as Alfred’s heart sunk.  “I just realize that the method with which I brought you here was rather... abrupt.  I should have given you a bit more time to adjust to your new reality.  However, I never _imagined_ that you would have to be summoned from a different world.  Or that I _could_ summon someone from a different world,” he added with a smug grin and wicked eyes.  “I can’t _wait_ to tell Ivan.”

Dude was right.  His interpersonal skills sucked.  “Ivan?” Alfred said, almost afraid to ask.

“One of the other nominees for the Astor Seat,” Arthur replied dismissively.  “We’ve been bitter rivals for quite a while, although I’m superior in all the ways that matter.”  Which probably meant Arthur was inferior in ways that annoyed the hell out of him. 

“In any case,” Arthur said, changing topics, “I shall follow Her Majesty’s advice and take things a bit slower.  Although I _do_ need to be married in a month, so if we could possibly hurry it up a bit I would appreciate it.”

“Hurry it-” Alfred started, before his temper flared.  “Dude, get this through your head.  I _don’t_ want to marry you!  I want to go home!”

His kidnapper gave him a blank look, cocking his head.  “Why on earth would you want to do that?  I told you that we are soulmates.  Why would you not want to marry your soulmate?”

“You don’t even know what my name is!”

“Yes, I do.  It’s...” Arthur started, then struggled.  A moment later, he said somewhat sheepishly, “Ah, right.  I think I did overlook that.  What might your name be?  If only so I know how to address you.”

“...Alfred,” he said, grudgingly.  “And see?  How can you marry someone you’ve known for less than a day.  You don’t know what I’m like.  I could snore or kick in bed.  Or have really annoying opinions or habits that drive you up the wall.”

“We’re soulmates,” Arthur repeated like a robot.

“I know you think that!” Alfred cried, wishing he could just shake the guy.  “But even if this whole magic thing is real, soulmates arent’!  I mean, if there was only one person in the entire flippin’ universe that was your soulmate, then _nobody_ would find their soulmates.  _Ever._   I mean, given that your soulmate is alive when you are and within the age-creep-gap zone and you lock eyes with an average of a few dozen new strangers each day. If 10 percent of them are close to your age, that’s around 50,000 people in a lifetime. Out of 500,000,000 potential soulmates!  And that’s just with heterosexual pairings, which this one isn’t!”  At Arthur’s blank look, he said, “I study Economics.”

“Yes, well you’re forgetting to take one thing into consideration,” Arthur said, looking as though he didn’t bother to absorb anything that Alfred had said.  “Magic.”

Alfred was about ready to beat the guy over the head with a chair.

Arthur didn’t seem to notice.  “Besides, if what you say is true and if you did manage to find your impossible soulmate, why wouldn’t you want to marry them?”

At this, Alfred got up and found one of the wooden chairs, raising it over his head threateningly.

That Arthur did notice, putting his hands up in defense.  “Wait, wait, don’t!” he cried.  “Look, very well.  I understand that you don’t believe me.  Clearly your grasp of theoretical magic is wanting, considering you didn’t even think it was real this morning.  So I won’t bother trying to convince you that way.  _However,_ I really am in a bit of a pickle and I need to be married.  Even if it is only to secure the nomination to the Astor Seat.  There’s plenty of Astorian divorcees after all.”

“I’m not going to marry you for political reasons,” Alfred snapped.  “I don’t even know why I need to do it.”

“The nomination process is in a month,” Arthur replied reasonably.  “I can make sure that you are well compensated for it.  After all, I am the king’s cousin.  Besides, you’re already here and I’d rather focus on getting that Seat than trying to figure out how to send you back from whence you came.  So you’re stuck either way.”

“Are you serious?!” Alfred cried.  “You can’t get me back home?!”

“Presently...” Arthur said primly, folding his hands in his lap, “no, not yet.  I didn’t think it would be necessary to research it.”

Groaning, Alfred sat back down in the chaise and flopped back into a prone position.  “I can’t believe this,” he moaned, “I got kidnapped by a moron.”

“ _Excuse_ me, I’m right here,” Arthur huffed indignantly.

Alfred ignored him, continuing to lament his situation.  “And I’m gonna miss school for a whole month!  And people are going to think I’ve gone missing and my mom’s gonna go out of her mind with worry.”

The magician let out an exasperated sigh.  “Alfred, if you really want to stay here and whinge, that is fine.  However, I have to attend dinner with the king and queen.  You are welcome to join me or you can stay here and go hungry.  It’s your choice.”

“Are their interpersonal skills any better than yours?” Alfred asked flatly, glancing at his abductor out of the corner of his eye.

“I should say so.  Particularly Queen Elizabeta.  King Magnus is... sociable,” Arthur replied diplomatically. 

“Alright, sold,” Alfred replied, pushing himself up to his feet.  He wanted more confirmation that he was where he was - even if it was impossible.  Plus if he could somehow convince the king to force Arthur into letting him leave earlier, that was even better.  He took a step towards the door, but heard Arthur _‘ahem’_ obnoxiously behind him.  “What now?” he demanded.

“Is your attire appropriate for a royal dinner in your world?” Arthur asked pointedly, looking over Alfred’s attire.  It looked like he’d been snagged from heading out to the movies, wearing jeans, sneakers, a Red Sox t-shirt and a gray white hoodie underneath his leather jacket.

“Yeah?” Alfred lied.  He dared Arthur to contradict him with a dark look.

Sighing, the kidnapper gave it up.  “Very well.  I, however, do need to change.  Wait here.”  He didn’t head to the stairs to where Alfred assumed the bedroom was, but went to grab his wand instead.  He slung his dark robe off his shoulders, revealing the svelte build that Alfred suspected was underneath it.  What he was fully wearing were just some tailored gray slacks, a green waistcoat and a white shirt.  However, with a wave of his wand, the clothes transfigured themselves and he was suddenly wearing tight black trousers and knee-high boots as well as a green double-breasted jacket with fine gold embroidery.

Alfred’s mouth went dry. It was then that he realized two things: 1) Magic was totally real, and 2) Arthur was exactly his type.  Crap, this was going to turn into a stockholm thing, wasn’t it?

However, Arthur seemed somewhat oblivious to his reaction as he pulled on some fingerless leather gloves.  He slipped his wand into his boot and then said to him, “Right, I’m ready.  Just follow me and do try not to run off.  As I can honestly say there is nowhere for you to run to.”

Grumbling, Alfred couldn’t help but agree.  So he followed his abductor out into the hall where the two familiar guards were posted.  Both of them gave him warning looks as he passed, so he kept on Arthur’s heels as they found through the long cold corridors.  They passed several people on the way, whom Arthur greeted cordially and who all addressed him as _My Lord_ or _Magister Kirkland_ in return.  He wanted to gag every time he heard it.  They also had no idea what to make of him in his unfamiliarity and alien apparel, so they addressed him warily as ‘Sir’ if at all.

The pair of them strode into an enormous dining room with a table long enough for twenty people, lavishly decorated with silver and crystal with huge landscapes angled down from near the ceiling.  It was much darker than Alfred expected, even with the roaring fireplace, the chandelier and the candlelight around the room.  He was so busy looking around, he almost missed the royal couple themselves until Arthur elbowed his side to get his attention.

King Magnus was a huge fellow with the same flaxen hair as Arthur, though much spikier than the mage’s own, and sharp blue eyes.  He was solidly built and Alfred had no doubt that he could wield one of those halberds one-handed if he wanted to.  Queen Elizabeta had a much sweeter round face, surrounded by cascading ash brown hair and warm green eyes.  Which were currently giving the pair of them a decidedly sly look.

“Oh-ho!  So this is your bride to be, is it!” the king said boisterously, slapping Alfred on the back.  “Kinda on the husky side, isn’t she?”

“I’m not marrying him!” Alfred protested.

“What he _means_ to say is that he has not decided yet,” Arthur corrected erroneously.  “Magnus, Elizabeta, this is Alfred.  Alfred, this is His Royal Majesty Magnus Densen and Her Royal Majesty Elizabeta of Hedervary.  Alfred is from... er, where did you say you were from again?” he asked the student.

“Boston,” Alfred replied crossly.

“Right.  Boston in the Kingdom of England from Europe,” Arthur said, getting things even more wrong than ever.  “Apparently, he is from an entirely different world than ours where magic doesn’t exist.”

“Really?” Magnus said, his dark eyebrows shooting up.  “How the hell do you manage that?”

“Just fine, thanks,” Alfred answered, getting even more cross than ever.  After all, if it weren’t for magic, he wouldn’t even be in this position in the first place.  Apparently, the queen found his grouchiness amusing as she giggled.

“Well, he’s definitely not like your usual type, is he?” she commented.

“What’s that?” Alfred asked, raising an eyebrow, watching Arthur spasm with panic.

“Oh, _huge_ , if you know what I mean,” Magnus said slyly, making crude melon shapes over his chest.  “Yeah, I’d say you’re a pretty big departure from the usual.”

Slowly, Alfred turned to stare at the mage, who was going bright red with embarrassment.  “...You want to marry me and you’re not even gay?”

“You’re my soulmate,” Arthur replied obstinately, folding his arms over his chest.

“Are you sure you just didn’t get something wrong with your summoning spell?” Alfred pressed, his eyes narrowing.

“Oh, I would sooner expect that Arthur would get his own sexuality wrong than any of his spellcrafting,” Elizabeta said mildly, sinking Alfred’s hopes and embarrassing Arthur further.  “In any case, I think we are all gathered.  Please be seated.” 

The group of twenty all began to make their way to their seats, darting off to specific seats according to some invisible rulebook that Alfred never read.  Uncertainly, he started towards the other end of the table before Arthur caught his arm.  “Honoured guests sit to the right of the king,” Arthur informed him, still holding onto him as they sat as though he were afraid that Alfred would make a break for it.  “You’ll have to excuse him.  As I said, he’s from a different world.  We have to assume he doesn’t know anything about our court’s custom.”

There was no way any self-respecting Bostonian would know anything about _any_ court custom, but Alfred wasn’t going to bother getting into that.  Not yet, anyway.  Instead, he focused more on the food in front of him, since he was unexpectedly ravenous from being sucked into a different dimension with only bread and cheese for the whole day.  For being from a different universe, a lot of the food was similar, but slightly different enough to be completely disorienting.  Like sweet black oysters or fruit that tasted like beef or purple potato chips.  It was all a little... wrong.

“So Alfred, you come from the Kingdom of England?” Magnus said as they went through their mystery meat course.  “How different is your world from ours?  Is your king just?”

Alfred wasn’t really sure how to answer that honestly without seriously pissing Magnus off.  After all, he was still trying to enlist him into getting Arthur to let him go.  “It’s very different,” he said, deciding he wasn’t going to touch the king subject with a ten foot pole.  “At least from what I can tell from the get go.  For one thing, we don’t have any magic so we rely on machines to make our lives more convenient.”

“Machines?” Elizabeta echoed.

Becoming aware that several other people at the table (he had no idea who they were) were listening in, Alfred nodded.  “Yeah, it’s a sophisticated tool or device that takes energy to perform some sort of singular purpose.”

“You mean like a clock?” Arthur asked blandly.

“Oh yeah!  Totally like a clock.  You have clocks?” Alfred replied, forgetting for a second that he was supposed to be mad at the dude.  “Anyway, our machines take a lot of different types of energy, like coal, gas, and electricity.  We have machines that can capture images and project them thousands of miles away, machines that can fly people one place to another, machines that can communicate with other people around the world, machines that make other machines.  Loads of them doing all kinds of different things.”

For some reason, Arthur was getting more and more pissed off on his right.  Though Alfred couldn’t really fathom why, but it was actually pretty vindicating to see him go scarlet with rage.  Served him right.

“Why, it sounds so magical,” Elizabeta smiled, in a tone that somehow made fun of both of them at once.

“Ah, well, I guess it is,” Alfred admitted.  “Except machines make way more sense than magic does.”

“Oh _really,_ ” the mage beside him suddenly snapped.  “Then perhaps you could explain in specific detail how one of _your_ flying machines worked.”

That stopped Alfred short.  “Well, no-  I mean, it’s kind of complicated.  We have people specialized in that kind of thing to take care of that for us.”

“Oh _REALLY,_ ” Arthur said too loudly, his hand grasping his fork and knife in a way that was starting to scare the college student a little.  “I don’t suppose they’re called _Magicians_ are they?  Specialists of a specific field that can enchant objects for a specific purpose or perform extraordinary acts so that the masses can learn more mundane but necessary specialities?”

“Uh, engineers, actually,” Alfred corrected meekly.

“Just how primitive do you think we are?!” Arthur cried next to him.  “We already _do_ all those things and _more!_   Just because you don’t understand it, doesn’t give you _any_ right to talk about how insensible it is!”

Alfred opened his mouth, then decided to keep his trap shut.

“Wow, you really picked a winner with this one,” Magnus said with amusement.  Apparently none of the people at the table were even close to being as indignant as Arthur.  In fact several of them seemed entertained by the arch-mage’s temper tantrum.

“I didn’t _pick_ him,” Arthur seethed.  However, that cut his tirade short when he suddenly remembered that he was apparently supposed to be in love with Alfred.  Or something.  He settled back down in his seat and Alfred could hear him muttering low to himself _‘Soulmate, Soulmate, Soulmate’_ like a mantra.

Alfred couldn’t help but beam in victory.  “You know, if I’m really that annoying you should let me go home.”  His kidnapper glanced over to him with eyes like poison, as though he were really considering it.

“Oh now, hold on a second,” Magnus jumped in with a forcefulness that startled him.  “Arthur, you need to think about the Astor Seat.  This isn’t just about your ambitions.  The kingdom is depending on you to obtain that position.”

Alfred blinked at that.  “Is the Astor Seat really that big a deal?”  The way that his abductor described it before, it just sounded like some pompous and empty title for a university.  Also, he’d thought Arthur was insane at the time, so he hadn’t really been paying much attention.

“It’s only one of the most powerful and influential positions on the face of the Earth,” Arthur replied snarkily.

“Oh now, Arthur.  Be nice,” Elizabeta chided.  “In your own words, he’s from a different world.  He couldn’t possibly be expected to understand how everything works.”  To Alfred, she said, “The Astor Seat is the lifelong dean of the College of Mages.  The College of Mages itself is a body independent from any other kingdom on Earth with its own autonomy and economy.  It is highly influential for the reasons that Arthur has already implied; magic is an essential part of daily life.  The College researches and develops new enchantments, conjurations, spells, and more to advance every kingdom.

“It also maintains peace between the kingdoms by a setting the standards of practice that all mages must abide by, else be subject to the disciplinary committee headed by the Astorian.  Which could result from a mere stripping of benefits from the College to execution.”

“Execution?” Alfred echoed weakly.

“In the event that a mage becomes a mass murderer or develops a spell of mass destruction, yes,” Arthur added tartly.  “Do you really think we would really let someone that dangerous roam the streets?”

“I... guess not,” the college student replied.  Okay, so maybe this whole Astor thing was a much bigger deal than he thought it was.  No wonder Arthur was so eager to jump into the marriage bed.  “So, I’m guessing it’s also a really big deal for a kingdom if the person who gets the Astor Seat is from their country.”

“Exactly,” Magnus nodded.  “Technically, the College is supposed to be neutral.  However, there’s some subtle benefits to be expected for the kingdom from whence the current Astorian originated.  You should realize that the entire court is lending its support to Arthur and his nomination.”

That was when Alfred realized his chances of getting back home early.

Zilch.  Nada.  Zip.

“And of course, who doesn’t love a wedding!” Elizabeta beamed at the pair of them as she clapped her hands together.  “And a royal wedding no less, even if cousin Arthur is eighth in line from the throne.”

“And ineligible altogether if he gets the Astor Seat,” Magnus added, giving Arthur a very unsettling look.

“If I do get the Astor Seat, I hardly think that the throne of Alberron will hold much interest for me,” Arthur replied, his look back at Magnus just as unsettling.

A tense mutual staredown followed, with Alfred literally right in the center of it.  He awkwardly prodded at his grass jello, trying to avoid eye contact.

Then Magnus let out a hearty laugh and reached over to slap Arthur on the back.  “Well said cousin!” he said in that same boisterous manner.  The force of it very nearly sent Arthur face first into his jelly, but he managed to catch himself just in time on the lip of the table.  “You and I are going to have the whole world at our disposal.  Just you watch.”

“Don’t mind them.  They really are closer than brothers,” Elizabeta said with a smile and a wave of her hand.  Then her demeanor changed entirely as her eyes brightened with mischievous enthusiasm.  “Now, you _have_ to meet with me soon to discuss the wedding arrangements!  You can’t rely on Arthur to help at all.  He’ll be too into his books to pay any kind of attention.”

“I...” Alfred started, feeling a headache coming on, “Look, no offense, but where I come from political marriages are just not a thing.  All I want to do is go back home, not get sucked into all this for a month.”

“A month?” Elizabeta echoed, her delighted expression falling.  “What do you mean a month?”

“I’ve made it clear to Alfred that he has no choice but to stay here until the nomination process is over,” Arthur replied stiffly.  “Moreover, that I need to be married with or without him.  What he has _yet_ to understand is that it would be far more beneficial for him to stop putting up a fight and get on with it.”

“Get on with it!” Alfred and the queen both cried nearly simultaneously.  However, Alfred gave the floor over to Elizabeta who huffed in fury.  “Well, it’s no wonder he’s not the least bit interested in marrying you, if that’s what you think of it!” she exclaimed.  “You can’t possibly expect him to just fall into your arms just because you say so!”

“Why thank you,” Alfred said smugly.

“You’re welcome,” Elizabeta chirped back.  “Now, you at least have the advantage of being soulmates, but you need to actually prove your love if you want to win his heart.”  Several ladies at the table giggled at this, giving Alfred and Arthur sly looks.

At this Alfred grew much less smug and much more mortified.  “Um...” he started weakly.

“I don’t have time for that!” Arthur cut in, crying out in exasperation.  “Do you have any idea how much I need to prepare before I go in front of the Council?”

“Arthur, the Astor Seat is for a lifetime, but a soulmate is forever!  You need to treat him right!” Elizabeta insisted.

“ _I am not listening to this right now_ ,” Alfred muttered low under his breath, wishing he could just plug up his ears before he died of embarrassment.

Thankfully, Magnus elbowed him in the side, distracting him from the intense bickering that Arthur and Elizabeta had devolved into.  “Let me guess, you’re having second thoughts about marrying into this,” he joked, wresting a weak smile from the student.  “Once dinner’s over, let’s you and I have a little chat, shall we?”  That sounded much more menacing than friendly, but Alfred could only nod.  Magnus did not seem like the kind of person you could say no to.  “Ah good, dessert’s here,” the king said, as their jelly was exchanged for pink pudding.  No one seemed to notice that Alfred’s appetite had all but fled him as they watched the spectacle of Elizabeta and Arthur’s argument.

After dinner, Alfred was escorted to Magnus’ study under armed guard.  His stomach wobbled with all the unfamiliar foods and from sheer nerves.  He didn’t know what to expect out of this meeting, other than the fact that one way or another Magnus was going to force him to put a ring on it.  He just hoped that it wasn’t under pain of death or imprisonment.

The guards brought him all the way into the study and lingered near the door.  The study itself was the definition of sumptuous with red velvet and gold trimmed furnishings, ornate rugs, hardwoods and a roaring fireplace.  Magnus sat at the golden desk, legs loosely crossed as he gestured for Alfred to sit with a smile.  Meanwhile, the theme song for the Godfather began playing in Alfred’s head.  “So, Alfred, you seem like a bright boy.  Tell me why I asked you to talk with me.”

Alfred swallowed.  Though they both knew it, it was still difficult to push the words out, “You want me to get married to Arthur.  As soon as possible.”

“Exactly,” Magnus nodded, grinning viciously.  “In fact, I would prefer it be done by the end of the week.  After all, Arthur doesn’t need the distraction, no matter what Her Majesty says.  Not to mention, it would highly bolster Arthur’s suit if he could show off the soulmate he managed to summon from a different world.”

“Now,” Magnus went on, “despite the fact that you are Arthur’s soulmate, what do you think is going to happen to do if you don’t do as I ask?”

“Unpleasant things?” Alfred grimaced.

“Exactly,” the king replied with a dark smirk.  Then he spread his arms out wide as he leaned back, somehow turning into Magnus the Magnanimous.  “However, I’m not an unreasonable ruler.  Even if there are thousands who would kill to be in your position.  Being married into a royal family and becoming consort to an Astor Seat candidate besides.”  He gave a woeful shake of his head and sighed, though there was a definite sharpness to it.  It only occurred to Alfred then that he may have been dangerously insulting with all his complaints.

“In any case,” Magnus went on, “you say you don’t want a political marriage.  Do tell me what you _do_ want and I will see if something can be arranged.”

Alfred pursed his lips as he thought.  There was no point in saying he wanted to go home early.  That was liable to get him thrown in the dungeon.  He had to think of something else.  Something that would do damage control on the life he left behind when (if, a fearful part of him thought) he got back.  “Arthur mentioned compensating me for staying...” Alfred said, though it made him sick to bring it up.  “I’m in school now and I’ve got a lot of loans I need to take care of.  If you had, I dunno, a small chest of gold or something that I could bring back, that would be nice.”

It _was_ the middle of the semester, come to think of it.  His grades would tank for all the work he missed, but it wouldn’t be irreparable.  After all, tons of other students got away with that kind of thing.  Plus if he didn’t have to worry about paying it off when he got out... Well, that really would be magical.

“Just some gold?” Magnus asked, his lips splitting into a grin.  “As long as you play your part, I think that can easily be arranged.  You have my word as King of Alberron.  Martin, go get some wine.  We’ll toast to our deal,” he told a servant, who went off to do his bidding.

As the two goblets were poured, the king decided to fall to more small talk.  “So, you’re in school are you?  What are you studying?  Not an apprenticeship to become an engineer, I assume.”

“Ah, no,” Alfred said sheepishly as he was handed his goblet.  “Economics actually.”

“Really now?” Magnus said with a pique of interest.  “That’s quite a lofty ambition.  And pretty appropriate for Arthur’s consort.  Maybe the two of you really are a match made in heaven.”  Alfred couldn’t help but snort derisively at that, which brought out a laugh from the king.  “In any case, let’s drink to our deal.  Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Alfred replied and sipped his wine.  It tasted sour and he didn’t know if it was supposed to be like that or if it curdled in his mouth from his shattered principles.

“Good boy,” Magnus said, before he waved his hand.  “Alright, back to Arthur with you.  I’ll let Elizabeta know that we need to start arrangements for the end of the week.  Welcome to the family, Alfred.”  With that, he simply turned back to his work.

A guard took Alfred by the arm, showing him towards the door.  _“Ungrateful prick,”_ he heard one of them mutter behind him, but he didn’t bother replying.  He was too drained to do more than be shuttled down the hall.

When they knocked on the door to the arch-mage’s tower, it flew wide open.  “There you are!” Arthur cried as he came up to the door to greet them.  “Where on Earth did you go off to?”  Taking Alfred’s wrist, he tugged him in, while dismissing the guards with a wave.  “I was worried about you.”

“I was talking with Magnus,” Alfred replied stiffly.  “You’ll be happy to know he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.  We’ll be married by the end of the week.”

“Oh.  Oh, really!” the mage said in surprise.  Then a pleased smile came over his face that Alfred wanted nothing better than to punch off.  “I should have known he would come through for me.  Excellent.  I’ll let you and Elizabeta take care of preparations then.  I’ll just be downstairs practicing my demonstration.”

With that, he just left, starting the three-hour trek to the dungeon.  Although now Alfred suspected the trip wouldn’t actually take three hours.  His hands in his pockets, he looked around the quiet tower, unsure of what to do.

Sleep.  Sleep sounded like an awesome idea.  On the slim chance this was all a horrible dream.  He didn't trust the stairs up the tower to be any more cooperative than the ones to the dungeon.  So he found a mug from the little kitchen to pop his contacts into.  Then picked out the most comfortable looking chaise and curled up on it nearby the fire.  In just seconds, he was out like a light.

~o~

The sound of two voices in a hushed argument roused Alfred into blurry wakefulness.  At first, he didn’t remember where he was and tried to doze, thinking this was still a dream.

_“I cannot believe you just left him down here to fend for himself!  What kind of fiance are you!”_

_“I got him that blanket, didn’t I?  Besides, I’ve fallen asleep on that chaise many times.”_

_“While that’s sweet, you can’t expect him to accomodate your bachelor lifestyle.  For goodness’ sake, at least get him a bed and a sleeping robe, Arthur!”_

At the mention of Arthur’s name everything came back and he groaned into full wakefulness.  He turned and groped for the mug he’d left by the chaise, but found nothing there.

“...Where’s my mug?” he asked as a wave of panic came over him.

“What, that?” the Arthur-blur asked.  “That was my acid mug.  I needed it for an experiment this morning.”

Wait.... _what?!_

“Are you shitting me?!  My contacts were in there!” Alfred cried, bolting up to a sitting position to look between the Elizabeta-blur and the Arthur-blur.  “I can’t see without those!  _Please_ tell me you took them out!”

A long pause followed.

“...That may have been why that experiment failed then,” the Arthur-blur said sheepishly, while Elizabeta let out an indignant cry on Alfred’s behalf.  However, the Arthur-blur recovered his pompous tone and said, “So, you wear corrective lenses?  You know, I could easily fix that.”  He raised what was probably his wand towards Alfred’s face.

“ _Don’t you dare,_ ” Alfred snapped, holding an arm up to shield his eyes.

Arthur made an exasperated noise, as though the college student were being the irrational one.  “Very well, I suppose you can borrow my reading glasses,” he said as he went to the library/reading part of the tower.

“Reading glasses don’t work.  I’m near-sighted,” Alfred growled, until the Arthur-blur promptly slid a delicate pair of spectacles over his nose.  Everything came into perfect focus.  In fact, better than perfect, when he realized that he could see everything in greater detail than he ever had before.  Like that spider crawling up at the corner of the thirty foot ceiling.  “Whoa,” he said, duly impressed.

“Whoa indeed,” Arthur replied, looking perfectly pleased with himself.  Then he added, not a little smugly, “Such is the convenience of magic.  A bit more impressive than your electricity machines, wouldn’t you say?”

“Don’t push it,” Alfred muttered in warning.

Arthur just sighed.  “Fine.  I suppose you’ll see soon enough.  Just stay here and I’ll get you some breakfast.”  He departed from the tower, his dark robe billowing behind him.

Elizabeta positively beamed from her seat, hands folded in her lap.  “He’s getting you breakfast!  How cute,” she gushed, putting a hand to her cheek.  At Alfred’s questioning look, she clarified, “Usually he doesn’t bother with other people aside from Magnus and myself.  Not worth the trouble, you see.  With you, he’s different.  In fact, he was watching you this morning while you slept.”

Well that was... creepy.

“I suppose that’s to be expected,” Elizabeta mused.  “He’s bound to be fascinated by you, since you are his soulmate.”

“You mean he _thinks_ I’m his soulmate,” Alfred corrected with little impact.  He nodded over to the kitchen, “Any reason why he’s not making breakfast over there?”

“Ah,” Elizabeta said rather awkwardly, “you shouldn’t... _ever_ eat anything he cooks.”

“Why?  Does he drug the food?” Alfred asked wryly.

That enticed a small laugh.  “Oh, no.  At least not intentionally,” the queen replied with a smile.  “But he’s always fiddling with potions and experiments and he doesn’t necessarily keep track of what dishes he used for what.  On top of that... well, he’s just not a very good cook.  Perils of growing up in the royal family.”

“Uh huh,” Alfred said, now thinking back to that mug of tea that the mage offered him yesterday.

“In any case, while we’re waiting for Arthur to come back, we can discuss wedding plans!” the queen said excitedly.  “I only wish it wasn’t so last minute, but I’m sure that we can at least get five hundred guests.”

“F-five hundred?” Alfred squeaked, turning pale.

“Naturally, I’ll make sure that the invitations, the banquet, and the ceremony are all arranged.  You needn’t worry about the logistics,” Elizabeta said, in what she clearly thought was a kind tone.  “For you, we’ll need to tailor something for the wedding.  You’ll also need to learn the steps in the ceremony.  Oh, and some basic dinner etiquette for the banquet, I think.”

Meanwhile, the student’s head was still reeling from the number of guests.  He never imagined a wedding that _huge_.  Or any wedding at all, to be honest.  He was only nineteen for pete’s sakes!  He wasn’t _supposed_ to be thinking about these kinds of things!

“I’ll arrange for an etiquette tutor to come in the afternoons before the wedding,” the queen went on.  “We can also schedule a rehearsal the day before the wedding at the cathedral.  First things first, we need the tailor to come and take your measurements.  He’ll come just as soon as you’re done with breakfast.  Oh, speaking of.  Arthur!” she called as the door to the tower creaked open.  “Don’t go anywhere after breakfast.  We need to take your measurements too!”

Arthur frowned as he came by the chaise, setting the tray down at the table.  “Why do I need to have a suit made?  I could just as easily transfigure my clothes into whatever is appropriate.”  He took off the silver top and the smells of eggs and fried meat wafted in the air.  Alfred’s stomach growled and he gravitated over to the table.

“Because, Arthur, you’re limited by your own imagination,” Elizabeta argued back.  “Let a professional take care of your clothes.  Besides, most of what you own stinks from your experiments.”

“That’s absurd.  I don’t stink of anything.  Do I, Alfred?” he demanded, holding a white sleeve out near the college student’s face.

Bemused, Alfred leaned in and took a whiff.  “Smells like rosemary,” he judged as he munched on his eggs and fried meat-fruit.

“I do-” Arthur started indignantly, before Alfred cut in.

“I like it actually.”

The mage stopped short.  “Oh,” he said, clearly at a loss.  “Er, well.  I suppose that’s alright then.”

Elizabeta positively gushed at the pair of them.  “Oh, you two are so _cute_!”  Alfred was starting to _hate_ that word.  From the grimace on Arthur’s face, he didn’t much care for it either.  “I’ll just go check on the tailor then.  You two get a bit more acquainted.”  Then she left the pair of them, probably in the attempt to give them some “alone” time.

Not quite sure what to do with himself, Arthur fiddled with his wand as he watched Alfred eat.  “You, er,” he started awkwardly, “you actually look quite fetching in those glasses.”

“Thanks?” Alfred replied uncertainly.  There was no way to tell from that if that meant Arthur thought it was sexy or if he was just being clinical about it.  He studied the mage critically, trying to see if there was any vibe from him that indicated Arthur found him attractive.  What Arthur did do was stare at him with such open intensity that Alfred had to avert his gaze from those bright green eyes.  “Could you not stare so much?” he asked, his cheeks turning pink with embarrassment.

“What?” Arthur blinked, startled out of his activity.  “Right, apologies.  I’ll try not to.”

They were saved from another awkward silence as the door to the tower opened, revealing the queen and a bespectacled young man decked in spools of cloth measuring tape.  “Here we are,” Elizabeta said cheerfully.  “We’ll need the best wedding costumes for the both of them.”

The tailor hummed critically as he approached, rubbing the rim of his spectacles.  With a start, Alfred realized that they must be like Google Glasses, since he was circling around each of them individually.  Getting their specs no doubt.  “Very well, let’s start with Magister Kirkland,” he said, unraveling some tape.  “Please take off your robe.”  He tapped his glasses again and immediately began to take down Arthur’s numbers.  The mage only sighed and moved his limbs as he was directed, nonplussed even as the tailor measured him along his more embarrassing lower regions.

“Your turn,” the tailor said, turning on the college student, “Please undress to your shirt.”

“Y-you don’t actually have to get _all_ that, do you?” Alfred asked, his voice quaking briefly with an unwanted tremble.

“But of course I do.  How else will I be able to sew something that fits?” the tailor said with a frown.  However, Arthur - of all people - seemed to understand what the problem was.

“If you would allow me,” he said, waving his wand at the spools of tape.  The tape animated on his own, latching onto different parts of his body as though Alfred was somehow taken captive by a tentacle monster.

Oookay, this was definitely way more kinky than just having the tailor do it.  His face burning, Alfred stayed very still and kept his mouth shut (lest he get himself into an even more embarrassing situation), while the tailor rolled his eyes and went about his recording.  His blue eyes flicked up to meet Arthur’s, who offered him a faint smile. 

With a sudden flash of insight, Alfred realized that Arthur was trying to be protective of him.  In his own weird and highly inappropriate way.  It was almost endearing.  Sort of.

The tape dropped to the floor as soon as he was done.  The tailor clicked something on one of the spools and the tape snaked eerily back to their respective places, winding around the spools with a constrictor’s touch.  “I should have your first fitting ready by tomorrow morning.  I shall bring it around at the same time.”  He gave the three of them a sweeping bow, before departing from the tower.

“Right, now that that’s done, I should be getting back to-” Arthur started, before the queen tutted sharply.  “...Finding a bed and sleeping gown for Alfred.”

Elizabeta nodded with a grin, patting the top of Arthur’s head with approval.  “Good boy,” she teased, before turning back to the college student.  “Now, I should be getting back to preparations.  We’ll need to send out all the invitations today.  Just make sure you’re here in the afternoon for etiquette lessons.”  She gave them a wave and then set off to attend to her plans.

Alfred and Arthur exchanged a look.  With a faint cough, the mage gestured over to the stairs.  “I suppose you had better follow me then.”  Alfred did, growing more curious as to what the upstairs might look like.  Arthur abruptly stopped and gestured to the a random spot on the stone wall.  “Put your hand here for a moment, will you?”

Reluctantly, Alfred did and a warm heat enveloped his hand.  “What was that?” he demanded.

“The tower becoming attuned to you,” Arthur answered, giving the wall a fond pat.  “Now you won’t need me to escort you up and down the stairs.  Come along.”

The private area was about half the size of the open room below.  Yet another set of stairs led up to a mysterious third floor, but judging from the size of the ceiling it couldn’t be used for much more than an observatory.  The current floor was split a third of the way by a stone wall with an open archway that separated what looked like the bathroom and the bedroom.  Not much privacy at all.  Then again, Arthur probably didn’t need to worry about visitors.  Alfred’s attention couldn’t help but steal over to the large canopy bed.  Which was huge... but still just one bed.

“You may have the bed,” Arthur said to Alfred’s unspoken question.  “I’ll just sleep downstairs.  I am accustomed to that anyway.”  He strode over to the chest of drawers, pulling out a few clothes to lay on top of the bed.  Whipping out his wand, he suddenly touched the tip to Alfred’s shoulder and murmured something under his breath.  Then he waved it over the clothes, which shuddered for a brief moment.  “Those should fit you now.”

“Dude, give a guy some warning,” Alfred griped, “Why’re you always muttering spells anyway?  I thought magicians were supposed to yell them like ‘abracadabra’ or ‘wingardium leviosa’ or something.”

Arthur gave him a queer look at that.  “First of all, those are not spells I’ve ever heard of.  Second, why on earth would you want to broadcast to the world what you’re casting?  You’re bound to get a counter-jinx thrown back in your face before you even finish.  The only magicians who yell their own spells are novices still being trained under their master during practice.”

“Well, I dunno.  I guess it’s more showy,” Alfred argued, but the arch-mage was already shaking his head in incredulity.  “Okay fine, _fine_.  I guess you know better.”

“Of course I do,” Arthur huffed.  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to-”

“Hey, new question,” Alfred interrupted, hopping onto the bed.  He very nearly oozed into it, it was so soft.  “If I am from a different world, how come I can understand you and vice versa?”

“A mass translation enchantment the College put in place a millenia ago,” Arthur replied wearily.  “ _Now_ may I-”

“Hey, how does the bathroom work?” Alfred asked as he leapt off the bed and peered through the stone archway.  He grinned as he heard the mage make a loud, impatient noise behind him.

Storming past him, Arthur threw a hand at the copper bathtub.  “ _This_ fills with warm water when you get in.  It drains when you get out.  There’s soap in the dispenser next to it.”  He pointed to a faucet attached to the wall with a bowl below.  _“That_ will pour water when you put your hands underneath it.”  He pointed to the commode.  “ _That_ I _hope_ is self-explanatory.  There’s towels in the cabinet.  You know what _towels_ are, don’t you?”

Alfred made a considering hum at that, cocking his head.  “I think so,” he chirped.  “Oh hey, where should I get lunch when I get hungry?”  He laughed outright as the arch-mage made a yowl of frustration like a feral cat.

“For the love of-  I’ll make sure you get fed!” Arthur cried, ignoring the way that Alfred shook with repressed laughter.  He pushed past Alfred and headed towards the stairs.  “I’m going to the basement.  Just don’t do anything like _drown_ while I’m working.  Good day!”  With an unnecessary flourish of his robe, he headed down and out of sight.

Once he was gone, Alfred fell back onto the bed, overcome by a mad cackling laughter.

Taking a little while to recover, the oozing cushions of the bed made it hard to want to get up, Alfred eventually pushed himself up to his feet.  He wasn’t really sure what to do with himself now, but nobody had made it out that he was a prisoner in the tower.  In the castle, maybe, but at least he could get out of this musty place for a bit.

Warily he tread down the stairs and discovered that, yes, they were completely normal now.  In fact, they might have always been and Arthur was just screwing with him.  He doubted it.  Arthur had been pretty straight with him so far.  Glancing over at the door to the dungeon, he stole out into the hallway where his dearest fans stood at attention.  “Lo there,” he said, giving the annoyed guards a wave.  “So, what’s there to do for fun around here?  I don’t suppose there’s a golf range is there?”  Not that he played golf, but golf and castles just seemed to go together.

The guards answered with stoic expressions.

“No?  Quidditch then?”

More silence.

“Y’know, I’m just going to stay here and keep bugging you until you give me something here,” Alfred said matter-of-factly, putting his hands on his hips.

One of the guards, Alfred was going to call him Bob, heaved a great sigh.  “The royal family’s personal gymnasium is in the west wing, first level.  The royal library is in the west wing, second level.  Iffen you want to do anyting else, talk to the queen or the steward.”

“Sweet, that works,” Alfred said with a grin.  “Which way’s west?” he pointed some random direction.  The guards just stared at him.  “Y’know what, I’ll figure it out.”  Shoving his hands into his pockets, he jogged along the stone corridors. 

Alfred glanced out of the cross hatched glass windows as he passed by them.  There seemed to be a large expanse of green that surrounded the castle, but it stopped abruptly in a long smooth line at the bottom of the hill.  Presumably that was the end of the castle grounds.  Beyond that it all broke out into city-scape.  Except the city was made of pretty much the same dark stone as the castle with some bricked out ones here and there.  It reminded him of pictures of those cities in Northern-ish Europe, like Edinburgh or Copenhagen.

He squinted and his glasses honed in to see the common people doing their shopping either in storefronts or in the open market square.  There was a humongous building that he could only assume was the cathedral, as it kind of reminded him of Notre Dam except with bell towers that ended in dizzying spires.  That was where the shotgun wedding was going to be.

The thought made his mood sour and he tore his gaze away from the scene.  Whatever, he was going to get more than his fill of that place later.  For now, he continued his exploration and finally found the gym with the assistance of some directions from the servants.  What he walked into was an open wood-paneled space that rivaled the size of any decent public high school gym and was just as empty.  It was perfect for an indoor track.  There were also mysterious lines along the floor that made it obvious this could be split into several different types of courts.  Or one for an extremely complicated sport.

“What are you doing here?” a voice called out to him, cutting his observation of the space short.  Alfred spun around and saw a young blond teen enter the gym, wearing what looked like a medieval track suit.  It was basically a plain cotton tracksuit with chain mail patched in spots like the knees and elbows and just over his heart.  Weird.  With a start, Alfred realized that this kid had also been at the dinner party last night.  One of the people whose name he couldn’t recall.

“Oh, hi!” he said, giving the newcomer a wave.  “Sorry, did you have this place reserved or something?  I was just checking things out.  I’m Alfred, by the way,” he added, holding his hand out to shake.

The shorter blond just looked at it in bemusement until Alfred awkwardly withdrew it.  Okay, so maybe shaking hands wasn’t a thing here.  “I’m Prince Emil,” he said coolly, “King Magnus’ youngest brother.  I know who you are.  You’re the unlucky imbecile who has to marry that magic-for-brains, bookworm Arthur.”

Ouch.

“Ah, yeah, that’s right,” Alfred said with a strained smile as his fingers twitched to fist.  “But in a week.  So maybe I’ll get lucky and they change their mind?”

“Doubtful,” Emil replied, the joke sailing way over his head.  “Now you may go.  You have much to prepare for.  For the wedding.”

“Nope, not really,” Alfred said, just for the sake of being contrary.  After all, this guy was getting on his nerves, prince or not.  “I came here because I needed something to do until lunchtime.  What are you up to?”

Emil looked at him for a long moment, as if deciding whether or not to answer.  “Skating,” he finally responded.

At this, Alfred’s eyes brightened.  Finally, something normal!  “Oh, cool!  Can I join?” he asked, looking to see if the prince had some roller blades in his hands. 

Emil was silent for another long moment.  Finally, he sighed and shrugged.  “Very well, then we will play the Kloob variant,” he said as he went to one of the wooden panels along the walls.  He pressed it in and it opened up with a pop, revealing a number of sports equipment inside.  Emil tossed him what looked like the bottom of roller skates with some leather buckled straps for attachments.  Then he tossed a long wooden club.  Like one of those that they used for those Irish games where they smacked each other over the head in the pretense of getting the ball.

“Uhhh, what is this for?” Alfred asked warily, holding out the club.

Already strapping on his roller skates, Emil answered, “We will race twenty laps or until someone is able to knock the other person to the ground.”

“Wait, seriously?” Alfred cried.  “Why do we need clubs?  Can’t we do a non-violent version?”

“It is traditional,” Emil replied cooly.

Ugh, he should have known with a place that had a mage death penalty, guards with shiny sharp weapons, and _dungeons_ had some violent sports to go along with it.  If Arthur wasn’t into that sort of thing, maybe that was a blessing.  Still maybe he could race this guy and not get a beating out of it.

Resolved, he knelt down and strapped on the skates.  “Just take it easy on me okay,” he told the prince.  “I’ve never done this before.”

At lunch, predictably, he showed up back at the tower with a giant bruise on his cheek.

“Who on earth did this to you?!” Arthur cried, when he had finally come out of the dungeon long enough to feed his pet fiance.  He reached out abruptly for Alfred’s face, stopping as Alfred yanked his head back out of startlement.

“It’s nothing,” Alfred said, forcing himself to hold still.  Then he beamed, “You shoulda seen the other guy.”

The mage gave him a pained look.  “Could you _please_ be more careful?  At least _try_ to avoid violent situations.”

“Why, because you want me to look perfect for the wedding?” Alfred asked darkly.

“No!  Because I’m responsible for you!” Arthur cried in an outburst that stopped the college student short.  “I’m the one that brought you here, so I need to make sure that you don’t suffer unduly for it.  And well...” he turned his face away, his cheeks turning pink, “you’re my soulmate.  I wouldn’t want to see you hurt regardless.”

“Oh...” Alfred replied, slowly.  His heart stuttered, a little more affected by the blush on the mage’s cheeks than he wanted to admit.  He shook his head, dispersing the treacherous thought.  “Well, I guess it is your fault for bringing me over here.”

“Indeed,” Arthur agreed, recovering himself quickly.  He reached out again, much more gingerly this time, tracing his fingertips along the edge of the bruise.  “Will you let me fix this?”

A sharp, electric tremble shuddered down Alfred’s spine at the mage’s touch.  It was sorcery, but not the magic kind.  He remembered the same feeling from brushing hands with his first crush.  Knowing that didn’t make him feel any better.

Alfred swallowed thickly.  “Sure,” he replied quietly.

This made Arthur smile, which sent another dangerous tremble down Alfred’s skin.  The mage murmured under his breath, except now Alfred was close enough to hear the breathy whispers.  It sounded old, ancient, like what he imagined Egyptian might sound like. 

Maybe that was the first time he actually started to believe that magic was real.

His face grew pleasantly warm underneath Arthur’s palm, which spread down his neck and all over his body.  It was a delicious, relaxing kind of heat as though his entire body had just gotten a hot stone massage.  He grinned goofily, swaying dangerously on his feet.  Arthur’s hand steadied him, keeping him from teetering over too far.  “Feeling better?” he asked, giving Alfred a smirk.  However, the student was feeling entirely too blissed out to care.

“Yuh- _huh_ ,” Alfred drawled, leaning his temple against Arthur’s shoulder for support.  “So, _so good._ ”

“Alright, settle down now,” the mage said, helping Alfred to lay down on the chaise.  “I’ll go get your lunch.  Just take a nap.”

“Mmmkay,” Alfred hummed, letting his eyes slip closed.

He opened them again when he felt a prodding at his shoulder.  Blearily and not even close to as euphoric as before, he cracked an eye open to peer up at the offender.  Some severe, tall male brunette stared evenly back at him.  “Ack!” Alfred cried, slipping off the chaise in shock.

“Mister Jones,” the bespectacled man said, his head obstructing Alfred’s view of the ceiling.  “It is undignified to lay on the ground.  It is also rude to scream in the face of a new acquaintance.”

“...You’re my etiquette tutor, aren’t you,” Alfred said more than asked.

“Yes, Mister Jones.”

“Frack,” was what Alfred actually said, but the translation whatsit-enchantment probably translated into exactly what it meant.  His tutor turned redder and more severe than ever.

“Mister Jones!”

His afternoon did not get any better.  Mr. Edelstein, that was his name, took his lunch hostage and put it in some kind of demonic place setting that zapped him if he touched the wrong utensil.  Needless to say, his lunch was cold by the time he finished it.  “You will use this place setting at every meal until the banquet,” Mr. Edelstein informed him to his horror.  Then it was a crash course in honorifics and how to bow properly, which was only difficult because Alfred rebelled against the idea of it entirely.

Then the most awful and embarrassing part was when they had to start on learning the traditions and steps in the marriage ceremony.  “This is something that you should be learning along with Magister Kirkland,” Mr. Edelstein tsked disapprovingly, as they covered how Alfred was supposed to pass out flower hoops to the wedding party.

“No, please don’t,” Alfred begged, because he couldn’t imagine any way to make this more awkward and mortifying. 

The brunette merely sighed.  “I suppose it cannot be- Ah, Magister Kirkland,” he called as the basement door opened to the student’s horror.  The arch-mage had come up for fresh air, smelling of soot and sulphur.  “Magister Kirkland, we are going through the steps of the marriage ceremony.  Would you oblige us and participate?  We were just going over the passing of wreaths.”

Arthur gave the tutor an impatient glare that made Alfred want to sing in relief.  That is until the mage spoke.  “Passing of wreaths?  We’re doing a magical binding, not that pagan drivel.”

“A magical _what_?” Alfred demanded, right as Mr. Edelstein gasped, “But you haven’t been engaged for four years!”

“I insist,” Arthur replied coolly.  “As the Royal Arch-Mage and as an Astorian Candidate, I must have a magical binding for my marriage.  Anything less would be detrimental to my application.”

“I must say, this is highly irregular,” Mr. Edelstein said, puffing up like an indignant penguin.

“Alfred is my soulmate.  That fact alone should allow the exception.”

“Scuse me?” Alfred growled, holding up a hand.  “What the hell is this about a magical binding?  I never agreed to that.  What is it even?  Because we’re getting divorced after you get your seat, _remember?_ ”

Arthur had the grace to look contrite, his aloofness faltering under Alfred’s glare.  “My apologies.  I had forgotten to speak with you on the matter.  We’ll be doing a magical binding for our marriage.  It’s nothing at all to be concerned about.  The ceremony is much shorter than the seven hour torture session that Mr. Edelstein is suggesting.”

While that sounded great, there had to be a catch.  “And a magical binding is...?” Alfred prompted.

“Oh, a magical binding is just a spell where we _cnrdchthrsmtns_ ,” Arthur replied, his last few words going into a mumble.  And not a magical mumble either, because he was looking awkwardly away from Alfred’s gaze.

“Excuse me?  I don’t think I caught that.  Mind repeating it?” Alfred asked, his voice going harder and more forceful than ever.

Arthur took a breath, then gave in and repeated himself more clearly.  “It’s a spell cast on the couple that would allow them to read each other’s emotions.”

Alfred stared at him.  For a long, hard minute.

“ _What?_ ” he finally asked with a levelness that made Arthur wince.

“What Magister Kirkland is failing to tell you is that it is a very rare and highly regulated ceremony,” Mr. Edelstein said.  “For reasons that I am sure you are imagining now.  When this spell first came out, there was a flood of marriages made with this spell and a decade later we had a 75% divorce rate across the world.  After that, the Mage’s College ruled that whomever wishes to have a magical binding must be engaged for at least four years to ensure emotional... compatibility.”

“Yes, except in the case where emotional compatibility is undeniable, such in the case of soulmates,” Arthur insisted.

“I swear to God, if I hear you say soulmates _one more time-_ ”

“Magister Kirkland, Mister Jones,” the tutor cut in severely.  “Before we go any further, I will consult the king and queen to see if they will allow the ceremony.  That may put any discussion to bed.”  He bowed abruptly and then swept out of the room to go and find the royals.

Meanwhile, Alfred leveled the coldest, meanest glare he could on the mage.  “You were going to do some spell to read my thoughts without even _asking_ me?”

“Emotions, not thoughts,” Arthur amended quickly.

“Same difference!” Alfred bellowed.  “You idiot, you can’t just go around invading people’s privacy like that!  And if you think that I’m going to agree to that, you’ve got another thing coming!”

“Alfred, it really isn’t as invasive as you think,” Arthur replied, holding his hands up in a placating manner to the college student.  “Besides, you would have the same level of access to my emotions.  It would merely help to harmonize our relationship if we had a mutual understanding of each other.”

“I don’t care!” the student all but screeched, making Arthur wince yet again.  “I’m not doing it!  No way, no how!”

His so-called soulmate pressed his lips into a thin impatient line, green eyes narrowing.  After a minute of hard breathing on both their counts, Arthur asked delicately, “Then you would rather do the twelve hour pagan ceremony than a short hour long magical ceremony?”

 _I don’t want to do any of it!_ Alfred ached to scream, once again overcome by how _unfair_ this all was.  He wrestled with what to say, everything dying on his tongue by poison because he really _didn’t_ want to do a 12 hour ceremony no matter how he looked at it.  He just wanted to get it over with and pretend it wasn’t happening.  Finally, he said in the surliest tone possible, “You should have asked me.”  It was as close to a resignation as the mage was going to get.

It was enough for Arthur, who grew minutely less tense and offered a chastised nod.  “Yes, you’re right at that.  I should have asked.  I am merely used to getting my own way.”

“Well, you better get used to compromising, buddy.  Because that’s what a marriage is,” Alfred said.  Even as he said it, he realized he made it sound as though he were sticking around.  “I-I mean, as long as I’m here.  I’m not the type to let people push me around.”

A cryptic smile came to Arthur’s lips, edging on amusement.  “No.  I wouldn’t guess that for a moment.”

The back of his neck heating up for reasons unknown, Alfred coughed and tried to turn his attention back to the matter at hand.  “Okay, so I basically wasted two hours learning stuff I didn’t have to know about a ‘pagan’ wedding.  What exactly is involved in the magic binding?  We don’t have to get naked and have sex in front of everyone, do we?”

Arthur’s entire face erupted into a comic beet red that nearly made his groom to be laugh aloud.  “Heavens, no!” he cried, absolutely mortified.  “That’s barbaric!”

“Alright,” Alfred grinned.  “But do we have to afterwards...?”

The student could see it in Arthur’s very expression, that it only seemed to dawn on him that there were _expectations_ involved when one was newlywed.  He only grew redder and made a couple squeaking noises, before he managed to stammer out.  “I-I think- I mean, it’s customary to- I believe- but we don’t... have to.  I mean, there’s nothing to do with the bond where abstinence would be- a problem.  I-I don’t want to _force_ you into anything.  I swear it.”

As the mage continued to stammer unintelligibly, Alfred recalled that the guy probably hadn’t had sex with a man before.  The longer this went, though, he seriously wondered if Arthur had _any_ sex before.

Before Arthur could squeak himself into oblivion, Alfred held up a hand, “That’s okay.  That’s all I wanted to know.  I don’t want to feel magically compelled into having sex, you know.  Like one of those rated M fanfics.”

It was clear that Arthur had _no_ idea what he was talking about, but he didn’t look less conflicted.  “I... right.  Yes, of course.”  Alfred eyed him, trying to spot any signs of relief or disappointment, but all that Arthur gave him was a big ass blank.  Arthur coughed a little harder than he needed to, trying to regain his composure.  “Right, well to answer your original question.  A magical binding goes a little something like...”

~o~

It wasn’t even remotely surprising that Elizabeta was all for the magical binding ceremony.  Even though she’d tutted at Arthur for changing up all their plans so last minute.  (If Alfred ever heard the words _cute_ and _romantic_ again, it would only be too soon.)  They arranged a special exemption for their case and things only progressed all the quicker as the wedding date neared. 

Alfred barely even _saw_ his intended whilst he was swept up in the maelstrom of attendants making preparations for him.  It only flowered more resentment that he was essentially left on his own to deal with a wedding that he didn’t want anything to do with - with someone whom he absolutely did _not_ want to be married to.  Not that he thought Arthur was a _bad_ person.  He could even call him sweet and nice from their very brief interactions.  But God he was such an _idiot._

(There was another part of him he didn’t want to admit to that was _pissed_ the other man was ignoring him.)

So it was understandable that he was positively seething by the time Arthur arrived to the wedding party, minutes before they were supposed to head off to the cathedral.  “You _finally_ find some free time in your schedule for the wedding?” Alfred demanded, his voice colder than sub zero ice.  He hated sounding like some kind of bridezilla and he hated Arthur even more for making him sound this way.

It _didn’t_ help when the king noticed and guffawed loudly.  “Watch out, Artie!  You have a live one here!”  His queen smacked him on the arm, tinkling all their collective crown jewels with the motion.  It was nice that at least _someone_ was in Alfred’s corner, even if it was for all the wrong reasons.

For his part, Arthur at least had the decency to look contrite.  “I promise, I have nothing else on my schedule today,” he said in a weak attempt at a joke.  Alfred didn’t laugh.  Growing awkward, he gestured to the carriages.  “Right, well, shall we?”

The procession headed into their carriages with various levels of enthusiasm.  Theirs was the second open-air coach and they were left all on their own for the long ride to the cathedral.  Alfred was not looking forward to perfecting his ‘royal wave’ for the crowds and he sat opposite Arthur with his arms crossed in irritation over his chest.  Arthur picked at the hem of his suit jacket, looking everywhere but straight at Alfred.  When the silence grew too stifling, he managed, “You, er, look very nice.”

Alfred glanced briefly downwards at the blue suit with waistcoat and morning coat they stuffed him in.  Obviously, white weddings weren’t really a thing here.  Anyone would look good in a bespoke suit, so he just shrugged.  “Purple’s not really your color,” he sniped back, looking at the overly ornate suit and robe/cape that Arthur was sporting.

“Ah, it’s, a traditional color for mages,” Arthur replied without conviction.  “Goes back to the druids.”

“And here I thought you didn’t care for paganism.”

Arthur gave a weak shrug.  “Needs must.”  The purple really didn’t do him any favors.  The mage looked pale, almost ill.  Suspicious, Alfred studied him a little closer.  Okay, the color alone couldn’t make him look _that_ sick, could it?  Wait, was the arch-mage actually getting _nervous_ about the _wedding?_

Oh, the _irony_.

His lips spreading into a nasty smile, Alfred slid over to Arthur’s side of the carriage and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.  “Oh _look_ , Artie.  Here’s all the people coming to congratulate you on your _marriage,_ ” he said, pointing out the beginning of the crowds near the gates of the castle estate.  “Would be pretty awful if you did something like- oh, forget your vows or fall on your face in the aisle, wouldn’t it?”

Arthur’s heart hammered in his chest like a little bird trying to get free.  Alfred picked up one of his limp elbows and waved his hand for him.  “C’mon, _honey._   Wave to all the people, _honey._ ”

Gaining some semblance of his wits, Arthur wrested his elbow from Alfred’s hand and made the motion on his own.  “ _There’s no reason for you to be unpleasant,_ ” the mage said under his breath, barely audible over the din of trumpets and well-wishing cries.

“ _There’s plenty of reason for me to be unpleasant,_ ” Alfred replied with a gritted smile.

“ _Well I’m sorry that your stay in the royal palace has been so incredibly taxing,”_ Arthur muttered back, his own public smile strained.  _“I, for one, am not looking forward to listening to all your emotions if you’re just going to whine the entire time.”_

 _“Don’t_ remind _me,”_ Alfred hissed into his ear, coming to grips with a snarl before he was able to contain it.  He didn’t really know why he was even putting an effort into trying to look like this was the happiest day of his life.  His etiquette tutor had drilled it into him to the point that he threatened to use shock therapy like he did with all the utensils.  Plus everyone out there looked so _happy._   At least they should be able to enjoy it.

The terse silence between them was infinitely improved by the cheers of the crowd, distracting Alfred enough until they arrived at the steps of the cathedral.  The gothic stone building towered high above them, shielding them from the sun as they slowly got out of the carriages.  Some attendants buzzed around them, managing the whole group for what Alfred assumed were pictures.  Meanwhile piked soldiers flanked them on either side, keeping back the masses.

Arthur paused midstride up the steps to take to the crowds.  Alfred watched him take a little sprig of flowers from a sweet, little girl, before returning back to the student’s side.  “Here,” the mage said, tucking the flowers into Alfred’s lapel like a boutonniere.

Goddammit, it was cute.  Goddamned asshole.

Taking his hand, Arthur led/tugged the pair of them after Magnus and Elizabeta into the gaping doors of the cathedral.  Inside, the ceiling loomed impossibly high over them, whilst the pews were stacked with hundreds of their “nearest and dearest.”  Opposed to the cheers outside, the church was hushed and attentive, all standing in respect as the king and queen took their places in the front of the cathedral.  The aisle was so long in front of Alfred it seemed to spin and the eyes from their audience didn’t help at all.

The rest of the wedding party filed in line behind them, waiting as the wedding march began on the string quartet.  Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur held his chin up and raised their hands.  Right, if _he_ could get it together, Alfred could too.  Swallowing hard, he fell in step with the mage as they took the long, _long_ walk up the aisle to the purple wall of officiating mages ahead of them.  Despite how slow they were going, he could barely process everything around him.  He was going to be married, in front of hundreds of people, _and_ his intended was going to be able to read his mind.  Part of him still didn’t believe that was possible, but the thought was sending his privacy angel into a panic attack.

Before he realized it, they were standing in front of the mages while their wedding party filed into the front row seats.  Alfred didn’t dare look at the rows upon rows of wellwishers, focusing instead on Arthur’s own hands.  They were trembling, just slightly, only noticeable if you touched.

The head honcho waited until everyone was settled, before his voice projected into the crowd with invisible speakers.  “We are here today to join these two newly united soulmates in holy matrimony.  Lost through time, but now at one another’s side.  We thank you for coming to witness this joyous occasion as the pair formalize their union through the most intimate of bondings.”

It was the most embarrassing thing Alfred had ever heard in his life. 

To his relief, the priest/mage person began in that ancient tongue, reciting something or other.  At least Arthur had explained a bit about it before for his benefit.  It was one of the rare times that speaking the magic tongue loudly was expected, so that everyone knew the officiating mage wasn’t about to hex or curse the happy couple.  With plenty of mage witnesses to make sure not a word was spoken out of turn.

Alfred wasn’t quite sure if he was _supposed_ to be feeling something at this point.  Everything was just numb, out-of-body.  Part of him wondered absently if he was going to up and faint right in front of these hundreds of people.

Something tugged at his wrist and he abruptly turned his attention to Arthur.  The mage nodded slightly towards Mr. Officiator.  Alfred glanced over and saw the guy was holding out a wide swallow gold cup filled with water.  Or he assumed it was water.  For all he knew it was transparent grape juice.  Vaguely recollecting what he was supposed to do, he took the gold cup and took a sip (tasted like metal, _blergh_ ) before handing it off to Arthur who did the same.

Then the droning resumed again.  Sheesh, now he knew what it felt like to be Catholic stuck at some sermon in Latin.  No wonder they only kept it an hour long.  Aaaand now his nose itched.  Great.  Now all he could think about was how much he wanted to scratch his nose and how much he didn’t want a five hundred person audience for it.

Thankfully, something else started to distract him.  A very weird something, as he noticed that Arthur began to - for lack of a better word - _glow_ nervous out of the corner of his eye.  As in light up with a pink-ish aura.  Yet somehow in the back of his mind, Alfred _knew_ it meant nervous.  Horrified and fascinated, he stared as the light flickered, growing more and more stable the longer the droning went on.  Was _this_ the whole emotion reading thing that Arthur was talking about?  It was like someone had switched on a light in the back of his mind he didn’t even know was there.  This must kinda be like what synaesthesia was like.  Well, except just focused on one person instead of _everything._

No one else was noticing, but Arthur seemed to be reacting to it as well as his green eyes darted over to meet Alfred’s.  They stuck like flypaper, trying to tug away but unable to.  It made Alfred wonder what the hell Arthur was seeing in him that was so fascinating.

“ ** _LEMMAS_** ” the officiating mage cried out, startling not only the ‘happy’ couple but everyone else in the room.  It was supposed to be some kind of grand finale, but made everyone just jump in shock instead.  A quick check at Arthur showed he was shuddering purple with fright, though that was quickly giving rise to burning red with indignation.  Actually, this was kind of fun.  Kind of like an instant gratification calculator on how best to annoy Arthur.

Looking perfectly pleased with himself, the officiating mage called out, “The matrimonial binding has been laid.  Before it is sealed, is there anyone who would object to this marriage?”

 _I do!_ Alfred thought and saw Arthur light up with annoyance.  He grinned at back in reply, which seemed to make the front row of ladies coo in their direction.  If only they knew...

Finding no objections (vocally), Mr. Officiator gave a self-satisfied nod.  He chanted again, putting the finishing touches to make this -whatever this was- between him and Arthur more permanent.  It was hard to describe when Alfred knew he was actually done.  Like his heart had snapped like a taut rubber band and now was just hanging loose.  Hand to his chest, he barely heard when the officiator pronounced them married and only dully noted the way that Arthur tugged his hand for his attention.

Looking up, Alfred blinked when he suddenly felt a pair of warm lips on his own.  His entire body went blistering hot, realizing that his unwanted husband was _kissing_ him.  Barely before it began, it was over as Arthur pulled back and looked demurely off towards the officiating mage, although he was glowing with embarrassment.

It was too late for Alfred.  His tiny kindling crush for this man crackled to life with that single kiss, despite all of his indignation and all of his objections.  Even with his rational mind having a conniption fit at him, he wanted nothing more than to whirl the lithe mage back into him and kiss him so thoroughly that it made him gasp and pant. 

Then a cheer rose up from the crowd, reminding him that they were still being watched by hundreds of people.  It froze Alfred in his tracks like a bucket of ice water, dowsing the flare up of lust.  When Arthur looked back at him, he was utterly mortified.  Yet the attraction lingered just under his skin, annoyingly present and unlikely to ever go away.  Alfred swallowed hard, only one thought on his mind.

_I am so screwed._

~o~

The party that followed the wedding was nothing short of spectacular.  Even with the very late notice, everyone swarmed the palace grounds to drink and eat at the outdoor banquet, drinking from champagne fountains whilst playing with magical toys and games out on the lawn.  Emil, of course, led the charge for a bit more bloodthirsty sport.  Musicians played to the accompaniment of bawdy laughter, ending in a magical fireworks display that would have put any in Alfred’s world to shame.

However, Alfred couldn’t even think about enjoying himself.  He had been stuck next to Arthur for the entire night at the head table and neither could barely look at each other as a wall of sheer awkwardness thrust itself up between them.  It hadn’t exactly gone unnoticed as King Magnus and others like him made a lot of crass jokes about being shy before the marriage bed.  

Which _really_ didn’t help Alfred’s situation.  His whole body was nearly sick with anticipation when Elizabeta finally saved them (sort of), by handing a large brass key off to Arthur with a wink.  “Take him off to the honeymoon suite.  Like we discussed.”

Arthur, who had pretty much been a glowing flame of nerves and embarrassment this entire time, merely nodded and took the key in mute agreement.  “Follow me,” he croaked softly at Alfred and the two of them swiftly left the party as inconspicuously as they could.

The inside of the palace was dark and quiet in comparison to the outdoor party, the windows deafening the din outside.  The pair of them walked in absolute silence next to one another as Arthur headed down some unfamiliar corridor.  The mage stopped at a gilded door and very nearly dropped the key in his anxiousness to open up the suite. 

Alfred groaned when he saw the interior.  It was... _horrible_.  The already lavish rooms were decked out in glowing candles and rose petals, a weird flowery perfume wafting cloyingly in the air.  He jumped when he heard Arthur lock the door behind them.  As he whirled around, the mage gave him an apologetic look.  “Sorry.  I’d... rather not anyone come to spy on us.”

“Oh,” Alfred said numbly.  “Right, yeah.  Good idea.”

Another bout of silence welled between them.  Nearly suffocating.  They stared at each other, each deciphering the flood of emotions like studying abstract art.  Arthur was still all nerves, all embarrassment.  Yet here and there, a flicker of curiosity.  Finally, the mage broke the silence with a mirthless laugh.  “I thought... I thought I would be better at this.  If I could read you like a book, I would know what to... how to...”  He made a vague gesture with his hand that didn’t mean anything.  Sighing, he went to the bed and brushed off some petals before he sat down.

“You mean, there might actually be some _sense_ in a four year engagement before we can read each other’s thoughts?” Alfred asked, his sarcasm more biting than he’d intended.  “Why, whouda thunk it?”

Arthur cast him an annoyed look, but at least it seemed to break some of the tension in the room.  Alfred plopped down into an arm chair, wriggling out of his morning coat and shucking off his shoes.  “Okay, so I’ll get the bed and you get the floor?” he asked, undoing the buttons of his waistcoat.

The mage seemed thoroughly distracted by his undressing before he uttered a belated, “Huh?”

“Well, I ain’t sleeping on the floor if that’s what you’re thinking,” Alfred stated.  “Not after what you put me through.”

“I... but you...” Arthur stammered, his green eyes wide with shock.  “But it’s written all over your face.  Ever since we kissed.”

It took Alfred a second to realize what he was talking about, before his face did a fantastic impersonation of a tomato.  “Th-that’s private!” he snapped, although he knew it was no good.  “Besides, just because I want to sleep with someone, doesn’t mean I’m going to!  Especially with someone who doesn’t want to!  What do you take me for!  God, you’re still such an idiot!”

“And you’re still incredibly loud and stubborn,” Arthur replied primly, though his amused glow was giving him away.  Then he glanced sideways, studying a curio on a pedestal in the room.  His aura became a mixed bag of emotions, echoing the confliction painted across his face.  “What makes you say that I don’t want to?” he asked quietly.

The question did nothing to put out Alfred’s blush, as the student muttered, “Well, I don’t _know_.  Probably the fact that you seemed scared to death the entire day-”

“I was _not,_ ” Arthur objected hotly.

“-and maybe the fact that you don’t really seem all that hot for it,” Alfred went on, folding his arms over his chest.  That, the mage tried to object to, opening his mouth to speak before he changed his mind and clicked his jaw shut.  The nerves came back into his aura, churning like a little whirlpool as the mage worked up what to say.

“Well...” Arthur said after a long pause, decidedly not looking in Alfred’s direction, “you could kiss me and find out.”

Alfred was so grateful that the mage wasn’t looking at him, because he’d have no idea what the man would have seen there.  The lustful part of him immediately jumped to attention, even as he berated himself to cool his jets.  Yet the urgent need was back again at what was basically an open invitation.  “Th-this isn’t some sorcery thing, is it?” he demanded.  “You’re not trying to keep me here forever by bewitching me?”

The annoyance in Arthur was so keen it sliced through the nervousness like a knife.  “Of course not!” he huffed.  “That is grossly illegal!  I would never do such a thing!”  He stopped short when Alfred let out a bark of laughter.  “ _What?_ ” he demanded shortly.

“You just-” Alfred giggled, unable to help himself, “you take this magic stuff so _seriously._   _All_ the time.  You’re as relentless as a bulldog.”

“Why you-!” Arthur started indignantly, jumping up to his feet.

“It’s cute,” the American grinned, watching the mage stop short and blush up to his hairline.  Then he leaned in and captured his lips in the searing kiss he’d been aching for all evening.  To his immense satisfaction, he felt Arthur seize only minutely before melting into him like butter.  Both panted as they came up for air, leaning up against a bedpost for support.  Eyes dark with lust, Alfred pressed several breathless kisses against Arthur’s lovely neck before he said softly, “Maybe we should be making a bit more use of this honeymoon suite...”

Arthur made no objections, as the pair of them rolled into the soft folds of the bed, scattering rose petals everywhere.

~o~

_One Month Later..._

Alfred waited nervously outside of the Council Hall of the College of Mages, pacing the flagstone floor as he awaited news.  His borrowed robe (a requirement for anyone visiting the College) swishing against his legs only made him growl in frustration as he sat down on a bench for a time, before his anxiousness made him set to pacing again.

Suddenly, he heard the creak of the old oak door and looked up.  It swung wide and Arthur’s rival, Ivan, was the first to come out of the room.  The huge man sneered at him as he passed with a flourish of his robe and his pink scarf.  Alfred didn’t know how to interpret that, since the guy hated his guts almost on sight.  The feeling was mutual.

Instead, the student turned his attention back to the doors and waited for Arthur to come out.  Eventually, his tired hubby came out surrounded by a cadre of congratulatory councilmen.  Alfred didn’t need to see the delight in his aura to read from Arthur’s victorious smile that he had done it.

Letting out a whoop of joy, Alfred pounced him and swung the newly minted Astorian in his arms before letting him to his feet.  “You did it!  Congrats!” he bellowed, whilst the other mages got over the fact that someone had just swung the most powerful man on the planet around like a ragdoll.  “Er, well.  You and my mom did it!  Even better!”

“Would you like to tell her the good news?” Arthur asked, handing over the little gold framed mirror to his lover.

“Oh man, I bet she’s waiting on pins and needles!” Alfred replied, opening up the channel between this world and his own by brushing a thumb along the rim.

“Well, Astorian Arthur certainly deserves his seat,” one of the councilwomen said, eyeing the priceless artifact in Alfred’s hands warily.  “To be able to communicate between worlds.  To potentially travel between them as you yourself have.  It opens up limitless possibilities for us.”

“Well, he did it for me,” Alfred replied, not a little smugly.  Then the image flickered and he saw the face of his mother back at home come into view.  “Hey Mom, guess what!” he said, walking a little ways down the grand hall for a bit of privacy.

Arthur watched after him with pure affection.  It was odd, he thought, that the very man who many thought to be his ruination was the very reason that he managed to get his seat.  Nothing short of an inter-dimensional portal into another world would have beaten the demonstration that Ivan performed today.  Yet he hadn’t done it for the College.  He did it to make Alfred happy.  A concept that would have made his self from two months ago scoff in disbelief.

Strange the way the heart worked.

“So, we need to start preparations for the investiture right away.  We’ll have it by the end of the week-” someone started to say before Arthur held up a hand.

“Actually,” the arch-mage said in a soft but commanding voice, “I’ll need a month off.  I need to take my _husband_ ,” he couldn’t hide the note of pleasure as he said the word, “on a proper honeymoon before he begins his classes at the University.  I’ve been terribly busy preparing for this and haven’t given him the attention he needs.  Surely, that will not be a problem.”

The looks on the council’s faces said that it wouldn’t, but they didn’t like it anyway.

“Good,” the Astorian quipped, then spotted Alfred approaching with the blank mirror.

“Mom says hi,” Alfred informed him with a beaming grin, “and congratulations.  But says that you better figure out a way for us to visit for Thanksgiving,” he added warningly.  His Ma wasn’t exactly enthusiastic that some magical royal from a different universe had absconded and eloped with her son, but had relented when she saw how happy her son was.  Well.  After she finally believed him that is.

“I’m sure we can make that happen,” Arthur replied, snaking an arm around Alfred’s own.  “For now a seaside cottage by the beach is awaiting us,” he murmured softly, as they strolled out of earshot of the other mages.

“Completely private?” Alfred asked hopefully, his voice soft as well.  At Arthur’s nod, he made a sigh of relief.  “Oh thank God.  Last thing I need is people walking in on us to yell at me for how much I’m distracting you.”

“To be fair, you _are_ a terrible distraction,” Arthur noted.

Alfred scoffed, “And you’re a _tease._   Mr. ‘Oh oops, I dropped my pen.  Let me just get that.’”

“I only did that _once,_ ” Arthur hissed, blushing up to his roots.

“Yuh-huh,” the student replied, unconvinced.  “You’re forgetting that I can see when you’re all hot and bothered,” he smiled, watching his hubby get even more flustered.  Laughing, he pressed a chaste kiss to Arthur’s temple.  “ _Relax._   I’m just winding you up.”

“Remind me again how you’re my soulmate?” the arch-mage grumbled.

Alfred rolled his eyes.  Even now, he still didn’t believe in the whole soulmate thing.  Probably never would.  It was just too improbable, too random and well... just too _sad._

But he did believe in magic now at least. 

More importantly, he believed in love.

So Alfred leaned over and reminded him again with a kiss that dissolved the world around them.  Until it was just the two of them standing alone in the universe.  Together.


End file.
